


Good Clean Fun

by Laurasauras



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Crack, Facials, Idk man it was Emi's idea blame them, M/M, Multi, Ringtoss, Strider euphemisms for genetalia, Trans Dirk Strider, but with a dick, kind of, shitpost basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurasauras/pseuds/Laurasauras
Summary: Dirk plays ringtoss with Dave's dick while Karkat keeps it up and at 'em.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Dirk Strider/Karkat Vantas, John Egbert/Dave Strider/Dirk Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	Good Clean Fun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllDaveKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllDaveKat/gifts).



It’s not unusual to walk in on Dirk using his blowtorch; dude likes melting shit. He does it behind a makeshift wall that he welded together to save intruders’ eyes. You rap your knuckles on it and you hear the shhhh of the blowtorch cut off. He leans back, mask still in place. You poke one of the points of his shades, which he wears under the mask.

‘What do you want, Dave?’ he asks, exasperated and clearly resenting having to stand up properly instead of just poking his head out. Oops, you interrupted him during something important.

‘Actually I’ve recently transcended all mortal bullshit, including shit as pedestrian as “wanting things”,’ you say.

‘Whatever, I did that like three years ago.’

You poke at his shades again. You can’t see his expression, but you think you’re probably on the right path for a scolding. 

‘What’re you doing?’ you ask. You can’t tell him you’re just down here because you’re _bored_ when you’re so clearly annoying him. You swagger around the wall and over to his workstation to stick your beak into things. Aaaaand you don’t know what’s happening here.

‘Melting soap,’ he says.

‘Yeah, that’s sure what it looks like,’ you say. ‘I was under this really weird impression that you were smart though? So it’s like, what, did you run out of shit to melt?’ You examine the soap with your hands behind your back so you don’t fuck with his workspace. ‘Is this the soap from the bathroom? We _use_ that, man.’

He hands you a mask and you pull it on. He made this one specially for you, which means your aviators fit under it just like his shades fit under his. He turns the dial on his blowtorch until it’s on a low-level heat and then picks up the soap in his tongs. Then he touches the flame to the soap and you both watch as it melts into metal moulds, like how you’d make donuts if the donuts were really skinny with big donut-holes. It’s kind of dope. You’d watch the YouTube channel if he decided to record himself melting all the shit that occurs to him. He manages to make five donuts before he runs out of soap, then he turns off the blowtorch and takes off his mask. He’s kinda sweaty, haha. Cute.

‘Okay, but _why?’_ you ask.

‘I have a plan,’ he says.

‘Dirk, no,’ you say. ‘I understand and appreciate that you, on occasion, have plans. You make plans the way that other people make farts. I don’t think you can help it and sometimes they don’t even stink but maybe you shouldn’t involve other people in them, like, ever.’

He gives you a flat look over the top of his shades. He has the vibe of a judgemental librarian. You keep yourself from saying this, because if Dirk got it in his head to work at a library then that would be it, his character could never be retrieved. 

‘Let’s go watch a movie or something. My plots can wait till later.’

‘They’re _plots_ now? Dirk, that’s a fuckin’ escalation, that—’

He grabs you by the collar and you follow him up the stairs so he doesn’t stretch out your shirt, griping the whole way.

His plots or plans or machinations become relevant, as they so often do, in the bedroom. Karkat’s sleeping over too, so you’d kind of assumed sex was going to happen—not that it has to!—just that Karkat’s been busy with his real-person job and Dirk’s been busy melting shit you guess and you’ve been busy binge-watching _Downton Abbey—_ the point is that everyone has a lot on their plates. So it’s been two whole weeks since you’ve managed to get all three of you in the same bed and that’s, you know _cool_ . . . You would have been cool with it if sex wasn’t a thing tonight, that’s all you’re saying, but you’re glad it apparently is.

Dirk twirls a ring of soap around his pointer finger. Karkat’s already in bed, you’re sitting on the edge of it, Dirk’s pretending like he’s carelessly in control of the situation.

‘I know you didn’t make a cockring out of soap,’ you say flatly.

‘Jesus Christ, that’s an ego you absolutely haven’t earned,’ he says. Rudely. But okay, it’s significantly bigger than your dick.

‘Bulgering, then,’ you correct, because maybe? You’d have to compare the two close up. 

‘No,’ he says. ‘I’m gonna play ringtoss with your dick,’ he says.

‘What the fuck,’ Karkat says. Then, ‘why soap?’

‘It was lying around,’ Dirk shrugs. ‘Kinda thought I’d like to stick my dick in it, which made me think, hey, soap-dick-ringtoss.’

Dirk’s a visionary, misunderstood in his time and probably all times. What a dumb way to spice up a relationship. You really couldn’t have better boyfriends.

‘Okay,’ you say, pulling off your shirt. ‘I’m gonna need one’a’y’all to get naked so I can get the baloney pony up and saddled.’ You stand up so you can push your pjs and underwear down. You look down at your dick. It’s not completely soft, just from the vague implication of a sexy game. You look at Dirk and imagine that he’s naked. Your dick gets a bit firmer, wobbles a bit more upright. This part usually actually happens under clothes or under sheets, it’s kind of a weird sensation to have it bobbing around in the open. Dirk’s eyes are clearly pointed at your dick and that gives it the confidence to get a bit harder. You gotta imagine that you need more than a semi for ringtoss to work, though.

‘Uh,’ Dirk says, which shoots a flash of arousal very noticeably downstairs. You like when he gets a little speechless. ‘I was thinking Karkat could help put some meat in your salami.’

‘Fine,’ Karkat says, sitting up. He sounds fed up, but that’s a front. He doesn’t like to put himself out there as liking anything sincerely any more than you and Dirk do, though he’s been getting a lot better with the whole trusting you not to make fun of him thing. He still sometimes slips into it though. 

He throws off the blankets and then gets rid of his clothes, super efficiently. Even though it’s pretty matter-of-fact, you think you’re getting closer to luring that trouser monkey to his fullest and happiest state just from the implication that he’s going to touch you.

Dirk pulls his chair away from his desk and sits in it with his chin on his threaded-together fingers. You think it’s super beneficial for your whole poly sitch that you’re extremely into being watched. Also watching. When Karkat’s hands land hot and firm on your side, you gesture welcomingly at your pretty fucking hard dick.

‘It’d work better if Karkat was railing you,’ Dirk says. 

‘Fine by me,’ Karkat says, lips brushing your ear and sending tiny vibrations through it. You shiver.

‘Yeah, okay,’ you say. 

Karkat pulls you into a kiss, which has the happy effect of getting your dick nice and firm between the two of you. He holds you close with a hand just under your shoulder blades and cops a feel of your ass with his other hand. You let your arms rest on his shoulders and let yourself be spoiled. This isn’t your show to lead, apparently.

You make out messily, biting and grinding and gasping, not quite forgetting that you have a purpose in mind but definitely having fun getting there. Or that’s what you think, but when you feel the tip of Karkat’s bulge poking delicately out of its sheath he doesn’t keep grinding against you to coax it out and around you, he pulls back. You look questioningly at him, and he answers by pushing you by the shoulder so you fall, catching yourself on all fours on the bed. You let him turn you so you’re facing Dirk head-on and you lift your head so you can smirk at him. He’s looking pretty hot and bothered there. 

A second later you have Karkat’s fingers, slick with his own material, drawing soft circles around your asshole. Your dick is rock fucking hard, but you’re not about to tell him to stop so that you can play Dirk’s game. You drop your head and relax into the feeling. When Karkat’s fingers move away, you peek around to watch him reach between his legs. His hand comes back _coated_ in his spunk. He might be being businesslike with this, but he’s really fucking wet. You bet the same is true for Dirk. 

Karkat’s fingers touch your asshole again, then, slowly, one slips in. You swear quietly. Karkat starts fingering you, rhythmically pulling his finger almost-out then pushing it back in. A trickle of his genetic material drips down from his fingers, along your taint, before it’s lost in your pubes. His second finger pushes in, sooner than you were expecting it, and you make a high moaning sound. You feel your face heat and push it into your forearm. Karkat’s hand comes up to rest on your upper back and presses down to keep you there. You moan again.

None of you are _fast_ with foreplay, not without specially constructed scenarios that get you going enough to want to hurry through. For Dirk, that means a rap battle, or, if you’re particularly desperate, puppets. For you, that means, shit, you don’t actually know, unless it’s like when Karkat bent over that time and you saw a thong peeking out of his pants, because yeah, that did it for you. For Karkat, it’s reading or watching something slightly spicy. Or, apparently, when Dirk tells him to for a really stupid reason. 

Kinda hot how they’re making you a prop in this game.

Karkat’s withdraws his fingers for a second, slicks them up, and pushes them back in. You groan into your forearm, then again as he speeds up. Karkat doesn’t have Dirk’s finesse when it comes to fingering, but then he doesn’t need it. As soon as you’re worked up enough, he’s got the kind of alien dick 80s sci-fi porn writers _wish_ they’d come up with.

Which apparently you’re ready for. Karkat lifts you under the arms and pulls you up and back until your back is pressed against his chest. Your shades, already barely hanging onto your ears, fall to the mattress and bounce. Dirk snatches them before someone crushes them, which you appreciate, and hangs them in the neck of his t-shirt instead of putting them aside, which you appreciate a lot less. Karkat hugs you so that you’re still and you drag the back of a hand across your mouth because apparently you were straight up drooling into the mattress. He’s on his knees and it forces your legs to be spread pretty wide so that you can accommodate those thicc thighs between them. You stare right into Dirk’s eyes (probably) as Karkat’s bulge finds your ass and gets itself right up in there. Your lungs are struggling to get in enough air, even though Karkat’s barely constricting them. You think this probably qualifies as panting. 

_’Jesus fucking Christ,’_ you swear. ‘Karkat, your meat tornado is fucking _wild_ tonight.’

‘I had your mouth pressed into the mattress, didn’t I,’ he says, in what is definitely an attempt at wry flatness. It just sounds breathy.

‘You’re whisking— _aah—_ my guts up, gonna make, whipped cream outta this son-bitch.’

One of Karkat’s hands reaches up and he shoves two fingers into your willing mouth. A second too late, you wonder if they were the ones in your ass, but then you realise you would absolutely be able to tell from the taste and these are normal, ass-free fingers. Your hips buck a little, turned right the fuck on by something in your mouth. 

‘Okay,’ Dirk says. He clears his throat and tries again. ‘Game time.’

You keep your crotch as still as possible as Dirk throws the first ring. Turns out there was no need, because the ring crashes into the wall _several metres away_ and shatters.

‘Huh,’ he says. ‘I forgot that I straight up suck donkey dick at sports.’

‘This,’ Karkat pants, ‘is not a sport.’

‘I can do this,’ Dirk lies. He lines up again and you watch his eyebrows furrow in concentration. The soap collides with the ceiling fan and you guess he half wins because a chunk of soap hits you on the upper thigh, so close to your dick that you flinch, which seems to anger the kraken in your badonkadonk. ‘Whoops,’ Dirk says.

He winds up for another try. You flinch again, certain it’s going to hit you in the face. It doesn’t. It hits _Karkat_ in the face. The kraken isn’t particularly pleased by this either, but instead of writhing around again it just retracts.

‘Nooo, kraken, noo,’ you say. Oh, Karkat’s fingers are gone too. He eases you back onto your hands and knees, which is nice. You’re not at your steadiest. 

‘For fuck’s sake, give me those,’ Karkat says. ‘You take this.’

Dirk strips immediately, sending your shades clattering helplessly to the ground, which is exactly why he should have put them on his desk or something. His own get caught up in his t-shirt. You’d wonder why you’re so attracted to him, but then his shirt’s off, so you remember. He pulls open his spacious bedside drawer and demonstrates that he’d be the fastest shooter in the west, if shooting guns required the same skills as putting on a strap-on. He’s efficient, that’s what you’re saying. 

He goes back over to Karkat and you watch with a wing-wang that’ll never wane as he fucks Karkat’s slick thighs to lube himself up. Motherfucker has lube in his drawer, but that is _way_ hotter. And then he takes Karkat’s position, lifts you like you’re a balloon, and spears you right up the money maker. You melt into his arms and he laughs at how goddamn pathetic you are. You don’t give a shit, you’re getting laid like a fucking egg.

You try to focus your gaze on Karkat, if only so you know whether you need to duck, but Karkat’s somehow got his fucking claws stuck in the soap.

‘What, you can finger me fine but someone hands you a fucking ring made of soap and suddenly you’re like a cat on a woolen jumper?’ you say.

‘Dude’s stuck like a couple of homoerotic bros in an elevator,’ Dirk says. ‘Hope you brought a water bottle motherfucker because you’re not getting out of there before you have to pee.’

‘It’s like the soap is chewing gum and he’s a shoe, gonna need a credit card or some shit to—oh holy _fuck,_ Dirk—’

‘Got your p-spot, huh?’ Dirk says, very huskily and absolutely taking the piss.

 _‘Yes,’_ you gasp. ‘Can you, oh god, ease up before I sling yoghurt all over, _hhhhh,_ all over the fucking room?’

Dirk continues to nail you like a loose board on a homestead when a big storm’s a’comin’. Your thighs shake violently on either side of his. When you look down, your schlong’s fucking _purple_ at the head. Pre is running down the slit and dripping on the mattress. Your balls are pulled real tight up to your body and you can feel your heart pound inside your dick way faster than seems healthy. You can’t seem to pull your head back up again; if Dirk wasn’t holding you up then you’d be slumped helplessly on the mattress.

‘Uhhh,’ John’s voice says from the doorway. ‘You guys busy?’

‘Little bit,’ Dirk says. His rhythm doesn’t even falter. His strap is designed exactly to stimulate his dick while he fucks, there is no _way_ he is actually this collected.

‘What with?’ he asks, as if it’s not pretty fucking obvious and disregarding your porno moans that you’ve given up trying to keep in.

‘We’re playing ringtoss. Or we were, but Karkat’s decided to take on the properties of velcro,’ Dirk says.

You drag your head up enough to see Karkat just, fucking, shake his hand wildly and yeet the soap across the floor. It breaks. There’s only one left. 

John picks it up out of Karkat’s lap, tilts his head to the side as he looks at it, then throws it casually without even aiming at you. You all stare in amazement as it lands neatly over your downright _turgid_ member. And said member immediately celebrates with fireworks, or the closest thing it can get to them. You pop off like it’s the fourth of July, right into your own goddamn face. You squeeze your eyes shut and just fucking take it, shuddering through the pulses of spunk that spatter onto you.

‘Hot,’ John remarks. 

You can’t open your eyes or mouth to reply to him. It’s in your _hair._ It’s kinda running down your skin wetly. You tap out, hitting Dirk’s thigh a couple times so that he stops grinding leisurely in you. He pulls out and helps lie you on your back. You know he sees the state you’re in when he lets out a surprised and uncontrolled laugh. You hold both middle fingers up at him.

‘Okay, that is hot though,’ Dirk says. ‘I cannot see any tissues in here, sorry man, I live like a fucking animal. Guess I’ll go get a towel or some shit.’

‘Mmhmm,’ you hum in acknowledgement.

‘C’mon dude,’ John says. ‘You’ve tasted spooge before. Probably even your own.’

You gesture at your face, trying to communicate that this isn’t exactly normal spooge-tasting conditions. You can’t see to tell if you’re getting your message across. 

‘Would you be like this if _I_ gave you a facial?’ John asked.

You shrug. You feel like . . . yes?

‘Double standards,’ John complains. ‘You let Dirk and Karkat ride your face.’

A warm washcloth lands on your chest, and you gratefully wipe the jizz away. 

‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘But that’s just like, making a mess, I don’t know, it’s concentrated over my open mouth. I’m a fucking professional about my work, I see a job through and damn, the benefits are real good.’ Karkat groans. You look over to him, hoping that Dirk’s fucking him, but nope, he’s just judging you. You get back on topic. ‘If I were already giving you oral and then you pulled out a bit so it went in and around my mouth, that’d probably be fine? I’d just get all in my head about it if you jerked onto me.’

‘I guess I get that,’ John sighs. ‘Was ringtoss the endgame here or can I get in on some action?’

‘I’m probably gonna bitch about it if I don’t get off,’ Dirk says.

‘You’d bitch about it if you didn’t get off three times,’ Karkat says. ‘I need to clean this chair before it stains.’

‘I don’t give a shit,’ Dirk says.

‘You should,’ Karkat says. ‘You really fucking should, you disgusting assclown. Just fuck John while I deal with this.’

You toss the washcloth to him. He catches it on reflex, then looks at his hand with disgust. 

‘He’s had my love juice on his hands before,’ you say, pointing. 

Karkat leaves the room and John doesn’t care about the justice that just got served. 

‘I mean, I’d let a wasted person uncoordinatedly feed me custard but I wouldn’t want it flung all over my face,’ you mutter. 

John’s struggling to get a sock off, but you guess that Dirk’s gonna want the bed to fuck John into it, so you scooch over to the corner. The soap falls off your dick when you move and you accidentally crush it with your knee. Guess you won’t get to try your luck on John’s upright anaconda. It was a good game while it lasted, though.


End file.
